Built From Zero
by BadRyuKun
Summary: An old being with skill in swords and sorcery, but no Legacy. A noble with power, but no knowledge or experience. She wanted a familiar, and received a teacher. In a world with two moons and magic nobility, a legend will be forged. "Zero? That's perfect! All the best creations are made from scratch." A Pathfinder/Familiar of Zero crossover, rated T for now.


**Welcome to my first "Actual" story. I tried writing here in the past and those stories were honestly absolutely horrible. Now this is a crossover with pathfinder in the "Louise summons something/someone other than Saito" way of thinking. What she summons is a Elven Soul Forger Magus that participated and survived the events of the "Way of the Wicked" adventure path(well up to early book 6 anyway), and then lived for about 400 years afterwards. For those who don't know, a magus is a Pathfinder class which combines magical and martial prowess, a Soul Forger is a variant or "Archtype" as the game calls it which specializes in the creation and repair of magical and mundane items: usually weapons and armor. While that campaign is an evil one, he personally isn't evil: being Lawful Neutral. Anyway, honest reviews and critiques both positive and negative are welcome. I hope you enjoy**

**I do not own Pathfinder, Way of the Wicked adventure path, or Familiar of Zero/Zero no Tsukaima**

**Edited on 2/28/2014**

**Corrected some tensing issues and changed the several details to at least make more sense to those whom know Pathfinder/D&D mechanics.**

**Edited on 3/29/14**

**Learned of many errors with some ideas and got a beta to look over the chapter. This resulted in the chapter being almost rewritten entirely. I'll likely end up mentioning this again in the next chapter for anyone who is already following the story. **

Built From Zero: Chapter 0

-0-0-

In the large dwarven city of Janderhoff an elf worked diligently in a small solitary workshop. The room was rather spartan; only the necessary equipment for forging and enchanting was present. He was fairly tall for his kind, standing several inches over six feet and wore a silvery cloak. His arms suggested he was built fairly lithe and his skin was tanned , probably from the time spent in front of the forge. He had sharp and attentive golden eyes and dark brown, almost black, hair that would normally fall down to his shoulders but was currently tied back.

An odd form of speech left his lips as his hands moved over his work table, a faint glow visible around his hands, projecting downward. Below them was a sword of exquisite craftsmanship. The one-handed longsword was made from a darker metal commonly known as "cold iron" and its shape was one-of-a-kind. The pommel and hilt were rather ordinary, save for the dragon-hide wrapping, the guard was shaped like the head of a smith's hammer, and the blade looked like the sparks that would erupt when hot metal is struck.

The elf known as Firan did not know how many times he melted down different designs and started over when making the blade itself. He did know that it took him the better part of a year to choose a proper design and craft it; and from that point on he had worked every day to enchant the weapon.

One could say that this blade's creation was a culmination of many factors over the last few centuries.

-0-0-

The history of the blade was a history of redemption and order, or perhaps redemption through order. It began when he returned to the mainland from the island nation of Talingarde about four hundred years prior. He had just escaped a rather thorny predicament and was looking for a new location to live.

He traveled around for several years before encountering the dwarven city of Janderhoff. It was one of the original sky citadels, a settlement made when the dwarves first rose to the surface so long ago. It was odd but he felt most at peace among the dwarves. Their nature ended up meshing well with his attitude. Not long after his arrival he established his own workshop in one of the few surface structures.

For a bit over a century he lived alone and rarely interacted with the dwarves. Then he met Varric Ironmane. The stout grey-haired being saw some of his work and did his best to make the tall elf visit his temple more often. As Janderhoff was a city of dwarves the main temple was dedicated to Torag: the dwarven god of the forge. The temple was a large circular building much like the temples of other gods, but also contained a large number of workshops, including the city's largest furnace. A priest of Torag may not be the best craftsman of his field, but one could not worship the god of the forge without some crafting skill.

Eventually Firan decided to visit the temple more often, if only to shut the stubborn dwarf up. As time went on he visited more and more often, crafting weapons and armor in the name of the forge god at the blessed forges of the temple. While he personally didn't believe in everything the god stood for, he at least understood the being's appreciation of quality work. He could even appreciate the competence of the people he met at the temple, Varric included. Talking with like-minded and competent craftsman was a surprising pleasure, though Firan still preferred to keep to himself.

Not too much time passed before a new colony nearby called Korvosa began to trade with the sky citadel. Over the centuries the colony grew into a sizable city and at some point gained independence; during the time trade between the two communities waxed and waned but remained ever-present. Firan occasionally traveled there to sell some of his wares and services and later to procure specialized services . As he neared the half-way point of his fifth century he was forced to face events of his past he thought long over.

During his most recent stay in Korvosa he had been quite busy. After a barbaric attack on the city the queen had ordered the formation of a new all-female guard and had not spared expenses to see them well equipped. There was constant demand for his services and the time had been exceedingly profitable. It was not until after a group of heroes had overthrown the queen that she was revealed as the power behind the attack. Her motives were still shrouded in mystery, but the priesthood of Abadar had ruled evidence of that and other crimes as more than sufficient to absolve the heroes of any wrong doing. Aiding the mad queen brought back memories of his youth. Memories of violence, oppression, plague and his part in spreading them while under contract to an infernal god.

When he confined in the dwarf it would be an understatement to say that he was merely surprised. The now high-ranking priest of Torag almost looked betrayed. Instead of simply striking him down, like other priests probably would have done he told Firan to return to the temple in a week because he needed time to pray and search for an answer.

A week passed and upon his visit Varric gave him a task: forge a weapon worthy of their god. If the offering was approved by the priest then he would be assured of his place in the afterlife and would receive a spell of atonement to ease the emotional burdens of his past.

That was over a year ago . Now, as the enchantments locked with the end of his incantation, the blade was complete. Firan cast a spell to allow him to see the flows of magic and spend some time examining the magic in the weapon, making sure everything was in order. Once he was satisfied he retrieved a long narrow chest and opened it, revealing fiery red velvet lining. Placing the sword inside the custom made chest he sealed it .

He then cleaned up his enchanting tools, placing them within his backpack. Once finished he threw on the backpack, grabbed a sheathed two-handed sword with a heavy curve that he strapped behind his left shoulder and headed out of his shop, chest in hand.

-0-0-

For the young woman Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière today was it. This was an all-or-nothing occasion that would either cement her place as a noble and her place in the magical society, or have from her stripped of any last signs of value. Truth-be-told this was, in her eyes at least, a chance to prove herself. She was already 16 but with the body of a child, with her most noticeable traits being her almost waist length pink hair and matching eyes. It also didn't help matters that just about every attempt to cast magic would blow up in her face, literally. This bugged her most since she was one of the class leaders when it came to theory and lore.

Today however, at the springtime summoning ritual, she would summon a familiar and prove her worth. Granted it was some tough competition. Her personal antagonist Kirche had summoned a fire salamander, and quiet Tabitha had summoned a **dragon** of all things! Even though she personally wouldn't mind even a plain familiar, she was hoping for something spectacular.

The balding professor in blue, Jean Colbert called her name and she moved to the magic circle. After taking a deep breath she spoke the necessary verbal components, moving her wand in the way she has practiced over-and-over; "I, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, in the name of the great Five Pentagon Powers, following my fate, summon a familiar!"

The spectators braced for the inevitable explosion, but it didn't happen. Instead an opal shaped green portal shimmered into existence in the center of the circle. The students and teacher waited on baited breath to see what would pass through. The pinkette hoping beyond hope for something spectacular. Of those present only the professor already considered the summoning spectacular and couldn't wait to learn more about this portal, something he had never seen before .

-0-0-

Upon arriving at the temple Firan moved to one of the chambers in the back. It wasn't a private chamber per se, but since he was an acolyte Varric had used it for his own crafting. For a moment he hesitated, but after a moment gathered himself and strode in. Inside he found Varric placing a scimitar on a rack near the forge. Ignoring the heat in the smaller room he walked to the desk on the far side of the chambers and placed the long chest atop it.

The grey haired dwarf turned around, glancing between Firan and the chest. If he was surprised the elf couldn't discern any sign of it. "I was wondering when you were going to return." He chuckled as the elf gave him a stony look. "Now now, how about we get to business. Let's see what you made."

Opening the chest the priest of Torag could not help but whistle. It was perhaps the most surprise Firan had ever seen the dwarf display. "I haven't seen anything like this before." He picked up the sword, examined it, and gave it a few swings, before making some motions with his free hand and muttering an incantation under his breath. "Cold iron, also I've seen these types of enchantments before on a holy avenger. This one is different though, you made an Axiomatic equivalent of that weapon?" He looked up from the sword, and saw the elf nod in conformation. It truly was a work of art, a lawful equivalent of a powerful holy sword. The design was also well above Firan's usual high standards.

Varric nodded, placed the sword back onto the velvet, and closed the chest. "This is more than enough; no wonder I didn't hear from you for over a year." Faced with another cold look the dwarf simply waved him off. "You could still have visited the temple and you know it. There was no reason not to join our celebrations. If I had not known that you remained at your workshop I would have thought you had turned towards another path; or simply given up on redemption. Self-isolation is not a tenant of our religion, as you well know. Ah well, I should know that you are too old to learn such basic concepts. Thankfully that does not hinder your craftsmanship, thank Torag for such a miracle." The dwarf chuckled at the looks directed his way. "Truth be told I am amazed at your most recent work. It really is something you should be proud of."

The dwarf reached inside his robes to pulled out a well-made set of prayer beads and several bundles of high quality incense. As he began to place them in the necessary locations Firan retrieved several ingots of platinum from his backpack, placed them atop the desk, and said in his calm steady tone of voice, "To compensate for the incense."

Nodding at his friend's actions, the priest placed the last of the incense and quickly lit the many sticks. "Now sit down and remain still, this will take some time." After a nod of confirmation the elf sat down with his legs crossed, placed his sheathed sword on his lap parallel with the ground, and closes his eyes.

During the following hour and chant-like prayer from the dwarf Firan let his mind drift, thinking back to his own personal desires. He was getting there in age; in fact he was quite old even by elf standards. He had no heir, and while his many creations were magnificent he felt no desire to showboat. A century or so ago he had tried to look for an apprentice, someone who he could train to match his own quality in the art of crafting, magic, and combat.

He had made a large amount of coin over the past four centuries as a craftsman and had no problem with sharing this wealth. Many a master had arrived from a distant place to teach at the temple paid for with his donations. Like many other masters of their craft, he would browse through the young attendants to try and find a suitable apprentice. None of them were enough to meet his standards. There were some that impressed him, but they were already developing their own style. After a while he had stopped searching, and a part of him wished he hadn't.

His silent musing was interrupted as the magic surrounding him quickly build towards a climax. He could hear the voice of his friend , but he could also hear the voice of a young human or elven woman speaking a language he couldn't understand . As Varric finished the ritual Firan could feel Torag's eye settling on him for a moment, before he felt something flow through him, his memories, his mind, and even his soul. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

When he was aware again Firan looked at the priest, "Right when you were almost done, did you hear anything?" He had to know, after all one had to be wary of voices in one's head. Torag was not known to use a female voice, and while he had female emissaries, they were all dwarven.

"No," the dwarf said "What are you talking abou-?"

His question was interrupted as an oval-shaped green portal opened between them. Both of them quickly spoke the incantation and supplied the motions to grant themselves the ability to see magical auras. Upon a close examination of the portal they came to the same conclusion.

"A 'gate' spell?! What is going on?" Firan was both curious and concerned at this development, as this magic could only be performed by those who are at the peak of magical ability. And usually whatever opened the gate would cross almost instantly. This was beyond any lore he knew of.

Varric thought about the situation, and the fact that nothing had come through yet. "Well if I had to guess, it is probably a sign from Torag that seeking standard atonement isn't enough. I certainly see signs of divine magic in this gate. Or maybe Portal would be a more accurate term." He was surprised that Torag would still test Firan after granting forgiveness for his actions, but nobody had ever claimed that Torag forgave past sins easily. "The question is: how much do you want to move past you sins?"

The elf frowned at the situation; this is after all an unheard of situation. He would be going to an unknown location. Of course if he did not go, his final destination would probably be hell. Taking a deep breath he looked at his friend. "You do know that it is unlikely I will return from this." It was less of a question and more of a statement to the priest, who nodded solemnly.

"Well, it was an honor to know you Varric Ironmane." He extended a hand which the dwarf took.

"Aye, and it was an honor to know you too Firan. I wish you the best of luck, may Torag guide your hand."

Letting go of the priest's hand the elf looked into the gate, and decided to simply get it over with. With a steady stride he walked into the portal, the world he knew disappearing behind him as the gate closed and a feeling of weightlessness overtook him.

-0-0-

Upon stepping out on solid ground once more Firan quickly took note of the surroundings. The current area seemed to be woodlands surrounding a clearing with a rather magnificent castle nearby. It had six towers, probably shaped in a pentagram. It was certainly a location magic users would favor. The old magic he could feel from the surrounding area also supported his suspicions.

In front of him were many shocked teenagers wearing a matching uniform. It consisted of white tops with navy blue pants or skirts and matching navy cloaks covering their shoulders closed by a clasp bearing a pentagram. Each student had an animal near them. A balding older man with glasses who looked to be the educated sort stood among them and appeared just as surprised as his charges. The one that really caught his eye though was a small, almost child-sized young woman with long pink hair of all things. It reminded him of the crazy hair colors some gnomes had. For reasons he did not understand she seemed to attract his attention above all others.

A less observant man might have considered her a child, but the way she carried herself and her apparent group of peers made it obvious to him that she was not. The pinkette was pale, on her knees, clenching her wand in her hand, and panting. He could see the sweat on her; obviously she just did something trying; like acting as a channel for the gate spell.

The variety of beasts around the youths was a surprise. He even noticed a blue dragon. Thankfully said dragon didn't look malicious. That definitely deserved some further investigation. It wasn't unheard of for blue dragons to behave, but something about this dragon just seemed off.

The shock didn't last long and as the students recovered, he saw their eyes flickering towards his ears; it was as though they had never seen an elf before. That look of surprise was something he had never seen before. He certainly did not think anyone studying magic should be this surprised by anything. Even more astonishing was what replaced the surprise. It wasn't something foreign to him to his eternal regret, but it was something he hadn't seen in centuries. Something he had hoped to never again see directed at himself. It was fear; fear of him. Few had ever feared him as much as these children seemed to, even during his darkest days.

The teacher reacted a bit faster than his charges, but his reaction was no less incomprehensible. First he seemed to lose color, before he settled into a grim mask and fell into an obviously long practiced but recently neglected combat stance. Firan had no doubt that he was readying him for lethal combat, though he couldn't figure out why. Even a quick self-check showed that he was in his normal clothes and that the travel through the gate hadn't changed his appearance.

A moment later he got at least a partial explanation. The female scream that set of absolute pandemonium amongst the students was as telling as confusing. Just what had those tree huggers done to the humans to justify this response?

_**"E-elf!"**_

-0-0-

**AN: And the prologue is finished! I'd like to thank the user DragonForce for his amazing beta work on the story! I hope they you enjoyed reading this. Feel free to leave any complements, questions and constructive criticisms as a review. And of course, thank you all for reading this chapter.**


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